


move me, baby, like you've nothin' left to prove

by goldenthunderstorms



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I did some research, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, M/M, Monty is a vans bisexual, Not a lot tho, Scipio's A+ Parenting, They're like 21, Title from a Hozier Song, because I fell in love with that idea, being outed, but I don't know a lot about ballet so ya know, kind of wrote this on a whim, not really sure how to tag this, not sure I like how it turned out, oh well, they're ballerinos!!, we love Scipio, whatever it's fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 08:02:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23847874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenthunderstorms/pseuds/goldenthunderstorms
Summary: Either way, Percy and I aren’t ashamed of each other. But we have agreed to keep our relationship private. The only people who know are our close friends and some family.Despite what some people think, ballet is still very biased towards the “typical” buff, white, cishet guy. With Percy and I both lacking in some of those departments, it makes things a little bit more difficult in the industry. And when you add being openly queer and in a relationship on top of that? It’s just easier—at least for now, while we’re both young and relatively early in our careers—to keep our relationship private.Not to mention that, even though we’re definitely not celebrities, there is press around dancers and I don’t think my father would be very pleased about me being open about my relationship with Percy (which I have not told him about for obvious reasons). But, considering we’ve been together since we were eighteen and kept it quiet, we’ve done a good job.
Relationships: Felicity Montague & Henry "Monty" Montague, Henry "Monty" Montague & Jeanne Le Brey, Henry "Monty" Montague & Scipio, Henry "Monty" Montague/Percy Newton
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41





	move me, baby, like you've nothin' left to prove

**Author's Note:**

> uh I'm not totally sure I like how this ended  
> but I got the idea and went with it  
> the title is from movement by hozier  
> hope you enjoy!  
> TW for being outed

I am usually the last one to rehearsal. Mind you, I’m never late. But I’m definitely never early. Scipio complains about it because “we shouldn’t have to wait on the lead to get here” but I always tell him that he should just move up rehearsal time if he wants to start earlier. But he never does. That doesn’t stop Jeanne and Percy from bullying me for it.

“Why are you never here on time?” is the first thing Jeanne says to me when I get to the studio.

“I’m always here on time.” I slip past her and into the dressing room to put my stuff down and swap my Vans for my pointe shoes.

When I re-emerge, Percy is there. “I don’t know why Scipio hasn’t cursed you out yet,” he says.

“Because he loves me,” I say. Scipio likes to seem like a take-no-shit drill sergeant but he’s really a big softie. Not that you’d know it from his huge muscles and beard. He _does_ look like he would slit your throat in an alleyway. But Scipio has a soft spot for me, not that he doesn’t work my ass just as hard, if not twice as hard, as everyone else.

Jeanne snorts. “You’re such a teacher’s pet.”

“I am _not_ ,” I insist.

Scipio claps and everyone hurries to the barre. We do barre exercises and center practice for an hour. We start performances of _Giselle_ next week and Scipio wants to push us to the limit. But I know these exercises by heart, so I spend most of that time focused on Percy.

Percy is a graceful kind of beautiful. I like watching him when he’s dancing because he’s relaxed, which is rare for him. His muscles are pulled taut and into positions that should not be humanly possible. But despite all that, his face looks like he’s exactly in his element. It’s that complete content on his face that makes it so endearing when he’s dancing, aside from the obvious fact that he’s an amazing dancer.

That, and he does look great in those tights.

After the hour is up, Scip gives us a five-minute break. Everyone sits and stretches, sipping from water bottles. I check my phone to find texts from my father and groan, slumping over into Jeanne’s lap. Jeanne, without missing a beat, pats my shoulder. Percy gives me an amused look.

“What’s wrong?” Jeanne asks, still staring at her own phone.

“My dad is being annoying.”

“Isn’t he always?” Percy asks.

“Yes, but he’s being extra annoying right now.”

Jeanne puts her phone down. “About what?”

“Wants me to come see him,” I sigh.

Percy and Jeanne give me twin concerned looks. I wave them off, but I’m anxious about it too. What could he even want?

My father and I have never had an easy relationship. I’ve spent my life ducking my head every time he raised a hand. More often than once, I have had to deflect a question from Scipio about bruises. I don’t think he ever believes me but he never presses the issue. Now that I don’t live with my father, I try to avoid him as much as possible. But I can’t tell him no when he tells me to come to the house because he pays for most of my assets. Upsetting my father these days risks not only a beating but also him refusing to pay for my utilities.

So I try not to upset my father.

He really is constantly upset with me, though. He’s been upset since I was six and started ballet. Originally, my mother wanted to put my younger sister, Felicity, in ballet classes. The mule that she is, Felicity refused. But when I saw the videos of the dancers my mother was showing her to convince her, I knew that was what I wanted to do. So I begged my mother. It took a _lot_ of begging but eventually, she agreed. Here I am, fifteen years later, dancing professionally. My mother is actually proud of me for my dancing. My father always hated it, though. He still does. He makes a point of complaining about it all the time, which just seems pointless now, considering that I dance professionally.

After our five minutes are up, Scipio claps his hands and we return to our places.

After rehearsal is over, I am very tired, sweaty, and sore, but I don’t mind any of it. I talk to Percy and Jeanne for a bit, mainly waiting for the dressing room to clear out. Once the dressing room is empty, I go in to change. The dressing room is mainly for putting your things up and changing shoes, but it’s this or change in the car. It’s expected to wear our tights and dance belts at the studio, but anywhere else I’m sure it could almost count as public indecency. So, I change out of my tights into sweatpants I had in my bag.

When I’m putting on my vans again, the door opens.

“You’re still here?” I ask.

Percy nods. “I was waiting for you. I was going to ask if you wanted to get something to eat until I remembered your father . . .”

I weigh this for a moment, standing. “He can wait.”

“Monty,” Percy admonishes.

“What? He didn’t say he wanted to see me today?” I step closer to Percy and wind my arms around his neck. “I miss you.”

“It’s only been two days since we last saw each other,” Percy says.

“Too long,” I say. I lean up to kiss him.

Now, let’s get one thing straight (so to speak). Percy and I aren’t kissing in the dressing room because he’s my dirty little secret. We didn’t hook up in high school locker rooms and ignore each other everywhere else. We weren’t even together in high school. Either way, Percy and I aren’t _ashamed_ of each other. But we have agreed to keep our relationship private. The only people who know are our close friends and some family.

Despite what some people think, ballet is still very biased towards the “typical” buff, white, cishet guy. With Percy and I both lacking in some of those departments, it makes things a little bit more difficult in the industry. And when you add being openly queer and in a relationship on top of that? It’s just easier—at least for now, while we’re both young and relatively early in our careers—to keep our relationship private.

Not to mention that, even though we’re definitely not _celebrities_ , there is press around dancers and I don’t think my father would be very pleased about me being open about my relationship with Percy (which I have not told him about for obvious reasons). But, considering we’ve been together since we were eighteen and kept it quiet, we’ve done a good job.

After at least ten minutes of kissing, Percy pulls back just enough to talk. “Either way, we should really leave soon before Scipio kicks us out or locks us in.”

“He wouldn’t dare. But I am hungry, so I’ll take you up on that dinner invite.”

Percy rolls his eyes, letting go of me. “Let me put on some real pants first.”

“I wouldn’t complain if you wore those.”

“ _You_ might not, but the rest of the general public might.”

I wake up the next morning to my phone ringing. I sit up and see who it is. Felicity.

I answer it despite my better judgment. “Hello?”

“Monty! Are you just waking up?” she asks. She sounds panicked.

“Uh, yeah, what’s wrong?”

“Shit, that means you haven’t seen yet.”

“Seen what?”

“Check your texts.”

I do. I have a lot of texts and a lot of them include an _are you okay_ or an _I’m sorry_ , which makes me nervous. But I ignore those and open my messages from Felicity. There’s a screenshot of an article.

Ballerinas usually aren’t in the spotlight of media attention. But we do still have our own media and magazines. _On Pointe_ isn’t exactly a prestigious one. It tries harder to be a gossip column which can be a bit difficult for a magazine about ballet dancers. Usually, the stuff they publish is garbage. But every now and then, some poor soul is featured in an article that’s true or actually relevant.

Today, _I’m_ that poor soul. Not just me. Me _and Percy_.

_Eleftheria Ballet Principal Dancers’ Secret Relationship?_

And beneath that headline are pictures. Pictures of me and Percy _yesterday_ in the dressing room.

“Do you see it?” Felicity asks quietly.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” I shoot to my feet and barely make it to the bathroom in time before throwing up in the toilet. I’m shaky, retching until there’s nothing left to give up.

“Monty?” I hear Felicity ask from my room.

I force myself to stand, flush the toilet, rinse my mouth out, and go back to my room. I pick up the phone again. “I’m here.”

“Are you okay?” she asks, then winces. “Forget I asked that. Obviously not.”

“Obviously,” I mutter.

“I’m so sorry, Monty,” Felicity says. “This is awful.”

“Yeah.” I sink back into bed. I feel hollowed out.

“Well, I’m sure Percy wants to talk to you. I just . . . wanted to make sure you knew.”

“Thanks, Feli.”

“Text me if you guys need anything.” She hangs up.

I check my messages with Percy.

**Have you seen this?**

He sent the same screenshot.

**Felicity showed me. I can’t believe this happened**

**Call me when you see this**

I text him to tell him that I’ve seen the article and my phone starts ringing again almost instantly.

“Hey, darling,” I say when I pick up. I sound like I’m on the verge of tears.

Percy sighs. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says, which he only calls me when he’s trying to comfort me. It makes my throat tighten. “How are you holding up?”

“Well, I woke up to being outed, so . . . not great. You?”

“It sucks,” Percy says, “but it’s also kind of a relief. We don’t have to hide anymore. But this isn’t how I ever wanted to tell people.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you heard anything from your father?”

“No.” I’m dreading that.

“What will you do when he finds out?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

Percy pauses. “Can I come over?” he asks.

“Please,” I say. It comes out far more desperate than I mean for it to.

“Leaving now,” Percy says. As if to accentuate, I hear a door shut. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Okay.”

“Monty?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, darling.”

Percy hangs up so he can drive. I check my other messages. There’s one from Jeanne.

**Oh my god I just saw what happened. I’m so sorry.**

**Are you okay?**

I text her back.

**i’ve been better**

My phone starts ringing again. Jesus, I guess texting is only for non-dire circumstances,

Jeanne starts talking as soon as I pick up. “Monty! I saw the article. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe anyone would do that. When I find out who took those I swear I’m gonna wring their—”

“Thanks, Jeanne,” I say, cutting her off. I don’t really want to talk about the pictures.

“Of course,” she says. “God, this is so awful. I can’t believe this.”

“Me neither.”

“I’m guessing you’re not feeling that great.”

“I feel like shit, emotionally.”

“I bet,” she murmurs thoughtfully. “I really didn’t have a lot to say other than I’m sorry. I just wanted to check on you.”

“Thanks, I’m just . . .”

“I know,” she all but whispers. “I love you, Monty. I love you both. I’m so sorry this happened.”

“I love you too.”

Jeanne hangs up and I check my last message. It’s from Scipio.

**I’m sorry. I saw the article. I will find out who took the pictures.**

**I understand if you’re not at rehearsal today.**

I send him a thank you and, thankfully, he doesn’t call me. 

Despite myself, I look at the pictures. It is more than one picture. There are three. Two of them are the kinds you would expect from a tabloid relationship scandal: Percy and I, kissing passionately. But the other one isn’t of us kissing. It’s us mid-conversation. Because of the angle of the picture, you see Percy’s side and his back but you can see my face perfectly. In that picture, I’m smiling up at Percy, staring at him with love written all over my face. A face reserved for Percy. And that makes it _worse_ somehow. Whoever took these didn’t just out me and Percy, reveal our personal lives. They took me at my most vulnerable and showed it to the world. They tore out the insides of my heart and sold them to the highest bidder.

I press my hands to my face and take a shuddering breath. I think I might be sick again. Or just start bawling.

The door to my apartment opens and closes. (Percy has a key.) He appears in my doorway. Without a word, he kicks off his shoes and climbs into my bed with me and pulls me into his arms.

“Hey, love,” he says, softly. Then I really do start bawling. Percy doesn’t even bat an eye, even though I don’t remember the last time I cried. He pulls me into his chest. I think he’s crying too. We’re both shaking.

_We were outed._ I keep thinking that over and over again. Every time, it’s like sending a shockwave through me. Every time it fills me with another dose of horror, of humiliation, of fury. I feel like I’m in shock. It doesn’t even feel real. How can it? How can the fact that someone took pictures of me and Percy together—someone that we _dance with_ , no less—and sold them to the tabloids feel like anything but a nightmare?

“What are we going to do?” I ask once I manage to stop crying.

Percy hums thoughtfully for a moment. “Be honest about it? I know this isn’t how or when we wanted to let people know, but what else can we do?”

He’s right. It’s not like we can deny it. We could, but why would we? Especially if we only come back out with it in a few years.

“My father is going to kill me,” I murmur, almost as an afterthought.

“I’ll kill him first,” Percy says, which makes me laugh.

“You might not have to. I still haven’t heard from him but I know that it’s coming.”

Percy pauses before asking, “And then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, will your father be happy about you publicly being in a relationship with me?”

“No.”

Percy grimaces. “Can I say something that you might hit me for?”

“Go for it, darling.”

“Why don’t you just cut him off?” Percy asks softly.

“And do what? He pays for literally everything, Perce.”

“You have a job.”

“I don’t know if I make enough to pay for this place,” I say with a small, self-deprecating laugh.

Percy props himself up on his elbow, looking down at me. “So move in with me.”

“What?”

“Or I can move in with you. This place is nicer than mine but I’m sure the two of us could pay for it.”

I sit up too. “Percy—”

“Think about it, Monty. He’s going to be pissed either way. You’re twenty-one years old. You don’t have to put up with that anymore. We could move in together. There’s no reason for us not to anymore.” He stops. “Unless you don’t want to.”

I stare at him. Of course, I planned on becoming financially independent and moving in with Percy _one day_. I’ve always wanted a future with Percy. But right now? It just feels like a lot, though I don’t really seem to have a lot of options right now.

Percy reaches over and smoothes the crease between my eyebrows. “What are you thinking?”

“That I would love to move in together.” Percy smiles. “It’s going to be hard to pull so much together, and with performances starting next week—”

“Oh god,” Percy says, smile falling. “Do you think this is going to affect performances?”

“Hopefully not,” I say. “I don’t see why it should.” I can see, though it seems a bit far-fetched to imagine that Percy and I dating would have an effect on people coming to see the show. We are Giselle’s two lovers in _Giselle_ , though, so who knows? And we might be down a dancer, depending on how Scipio treats the situation. Percy is frowning now so I sit up, taking his face in my hands. “You know, Scipio texted me.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. He’s here for us, Perce. He isn’t going to let this change things if he can help it. He said he would find out who took the pictures.”

Percy’s frown deepens. “I don’t think I’d want to know.”

“Me neither,” I admit. “Jeanne does, though. She said she would wring their neck.”

Percy laughs, face falling forward into the crook of my neck. “I love her,” he says.

“She said she loves us too. She called me earlier.”

Percy nods. “Do you think you should call your father?”

“Hell no. I’m going to wait until he finds out.”

My father did find out and called me about an hour later. Percy and I had settled in my bed, curled up next to each other while addressing the _On Pointe_ articles on our respective Twitters. We both made it clear that we weren’t aware of those pictures being taken and did not want to tell people this way but we _are_ in a relationship. I ended my post by “officially” coming out as bisexual and it felt surprisingly _fine._ Unsurprisingly, I got a call from my father soon after. It was a rather long conversation on the phone, which Percy heard all of, that basically ended with my father renouncing me and me telling him to take his money and shove it up his ass. Felicity finds that hilarious.

Afterward, Percy kissed me all over my face before pulling me to the kitchen to make brunch. We spent the rest of the day in my apartment, discussing what we’re going to do now.

But today, we’re going back to rehearsals. It will be difficult but with performances starting next week, we really don’t want to miss more than a day of rehearsal.

Scipio finds us as soon as we walk in, hand-in-hand. I don’t think I imagine the small smile on his face, but it falls quickly as he starts to speak to us in hushed tones. “Well, I did find out who took the pictures.”

“You did?” I ask. “How?”

Scipio shrugs. “I threatened them. I told them I would make rehearsal another circle of hell if the guilty party didn’t come forward and eventually it was narrowed down. Do you want to know who it is?”

We shake our heads.

“Well, either way, they’ve been fired.”

“Thank you, Scipio,” Percy says.

Scipio nods. “If anyone else gives you two trouble, you tell me.”

A laugh escapes me and they both turn to look at me. “I’m sorry,” I say. “You sounded like a school guidance counselor.”

Scipio smiles but rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, get in there.” He waves us in the direction of the studio. “We have a lot of work to do, especially after a day without two leads.”

We do as he says. We get a few stares when we walk in but no one says anything. Jeanne runs up to us, throwing her arms around us. “You’re back! Practicing without you two _sucks.”_

“Sorry, Jeanne,” Percy says. Jeanne is Giselle.

“Don’t worry,” she says, then lowers her voice. “I’m just glad you’re both okay.”

Percy and I change into our shoes and Scipio starts practice almost immediately. No talking today.

Less than a week later, we’re all standing backstage. I hear people shuffling, getting into their seats. We’re ready, waiting to be told to get in our places. Percy looks like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. I rush over to him.

“Hey, darling,” I say, taking his hands in mine. “What’s wrong?”

Percy gives me his best approximation of a smile. “I didn’t realize how stressed I would be about this after . . .”

“I know,” I say. I saw this coming. Things do feel different now, knowing that at least some of the people in those seats are going to look at us and remember the article. “They’re still going to love us, you know.”

“You think so?”

“Unless the theater is full of raging homophobes, I think we’ll be alright.” I take his face in my hands. Before, I would have been nervous to do something like this. But now, it doesn’t matter. It feels really freeing. We get a few glances but no one is really minding us. That, and Jeanne is standing close (not close enough for it to be awkward but in our vicinity) to give a death stare to anyone who looks at us wrong. “We’ve been working our asses off for this. One asshole with a camera isn’t going to ruin it for us.”

Percy nods. “You’re right.”

“I usually am, darling.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “I wouldn’t go _that_ far.”

Scipio shouts that it’s time to get in our places. I get on my toes and give Percy a quick, fierce kiss. “Let’s go give them a show.”


End file.
